How to Raise a Nation- A Guide by Arthur Kirkland
by MrsBeilschmidt3
Summary: Prussia wakes up to find out that he's the big brother of the newborn nation of Germany. He remembers that England is in the beginning stages of raising little America, and decides to learn some childrearing skills from the other nation. But how great is England at raising kids, really?
1. Hello, My Name Is Germany Raise Me!

I was not in the mood. It was some ungodly hour of the still-dark morning, when Old Fritz decided it would be a fun idea to wake me up.

"What is it, Fritz?" I growled, kicking off the covers and standing up. Seriously, I love the guy, but aren't old people supposed to be _asleep_ at such a time? Heck, aren't _young_ people supposed to be asleep at such a time? But no, the king woke me up at one of those times when just getting out of bed makes one feel like one is dying from hypothermia.

"It's a baby," he responded.

This didn't register with me for a second. Then Fritz handed me a little blue bundle with a note attached to it. I blinked away blessed sleep and looked down at the baby. And then it hit me. The _baby. Scheisse,_ where did this come from? I read the note.

"This is Ludwig Beilschmidt. He will be the nation of Germany when he gets older. He is your younger brother."

Okay, well, that was sudden and unexpected. Just, "Here's your long-lost brother. BTW, he's a nation too. Have a nice few hundred years raising him." "The awesome me is going back to sleep," I declared. "Fritz, take the baby, I'll deal with him in the morning."

But then, just as I was about to hand baby Germany to my boss, he made the saddest little noise I had ever heard. Just a little whimper, like a hurt puppy. I peeled back his blanket a little and looked at his face for the first time. It was all red and scrunched up from crying, with little tears on his cheeks. He had a tiny bit of fuzzy, whitish-blonde hair on the top of his head. Between you and me, the kid was pretty cute.

"Hey, kiddo," I said awkwardly. "I guess you wanna go back to your old home, huh? I don't really know where that is, but apparently I'm your big brother, so… hey, don't cry, please. That's a good baby… nation…" I looked over at Fritz, who for some reason was facepalming.

"Um…I guess I'll put him to bed," I murmured, but Old Fritz put a hand on my arm. "Prussia, he's a _baby._ He needs a _cradle._ Plus, he needs feeding and bathing…"

" _Fritz!"_ I whined. "I am the awesome Prussia, not a nursemaid! Plus, what do I know about babies?"

"Well, you'd better learn, because Germany will be your responsibility," my boss pointed out, smiling at the baby in my arms.

I looked down at little Germany. _My responsibility._ Oh, _scheisse._ I needed help. Who knew how to take care of kids? And then it hit me…


	2. I Crash On England's Couch

**A/N: Wow, two reviews, 5 faves, and 9 follows already! I love you people! (: Anyway, here's the second chapter of my new fic. Next chapter will feature the insanely adorable Chibi America! Thanks guys! You guys really know how to encourage an author.**

I held a crying baby Germany in one arm as I used my free hand to knock on the door of Arthur Kirkland, otherwise known as England. I remembered that England had recently taken in a small child named America, who's supposed to grow up to be a nation. From what I've heard, the kid is still alive and healthy, so England must be doing a fairly good job. So I, being the awesome me, had the brilliant idea to ask him for advice on raising Germany.

The door swung open and England appeared in his pajamas and nightgown, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Bloody hell, who's waking me up at this hour?" He opened his eyes and raised his bushy brows. "Oh, hello, Prussia." His eyes narrowed. I was, well, for whatever reason, known as being annoying. Of course, you and I know I'm awesome, but England found me more of a headache to deal with. "What are you doing here so late?" And then his green eyes traveled down to see baby Germany, who was now asleep. "Oh… oh dear, you'd… better come inside."

England invited me to sit down on the couch beside him and gave me some hot tea. "So tell me, who's this little bloke?" he asked, reaching out his arms in hopes of holding Germany. I let him rock my baby brother, who seemed pretty calmed by the more affectionate, tender and less awkward, gruff embrace.

"His name is Germany," I replied, "Fritz found him last night. Apparently he's my baby brother, and he's a nation." I was never what one might call "England's best friend" and kind of had to suck up some of my awesome pride, but I figured that, to raise little Germany, it was worth it. "I, ah- I guess I thought that since you've been raising America, you might know more about taking care of kids than I do."

England sighed, and I could guess that he was thinking of the long and difficult road ahead for me. "Let's see," he finally murmured, half to himself, I think, "where is that milk?" He rummaged through his cupboard and pulled out a glass bottle, pouring some fresh cow's milk into a baby bottle for Germany. He tucked my baby brother into the crook of his arm and began feeding him. Instantly, upon his lips making contact with the bottle, Germany began to suck on it until he had his fill. After drinking, he gave a squeaky little yawn and fell asleep. I had to admit, the kid was pretty darn cute.

"You'd better spend the night, then," England told me after a moment's pause. "You can sleep on the sofa. I'll put Germany in America's old cradle." I followed him into his bedroom, where a now empty cradle lay. America was now in a crib, according to England, and soon to graduate to a toddler bed.

I watched as he tenderly laid my baby brother down to sleep, and I covered the little guy with a blanket. He was such a small, soft child. How would he ever become a mighty nation? But I guess we all start out as babies, don't we?

I gave Germany's forehead a little kiss and whispered, "Good night, Germany," before heading off to pass out on England's couch.


	3. England Doesn't Get Why I Won't Eat

That night I slept about as much as someone who just had five gallons of caffeine. Germany started crying like every half hour. England showed me how to feed him and- _ugh-_ change him. I would hold him, sing to him, soothe his crying… on it went for hours, until finally I was able to fall into a nice slumber…

Only to be promptly woken up by a chubby little finger poking me repeatedly- and not gently- in the forehead.

I blinked my eyes against watery sleepiness and groaned. "Who is it?" I mumbled, and looked up to see the small, wide-eyed face of a small toddler in a nightgown. He had dirty blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a little white nightgown that went down to his feet.

"Who are _you?"_ he asked me, as I forced myself up.

"I'm Prussia," I sighed, rubbing my throbbing temples, "and you must be America."

"Yeah, 'Mewika!" the child agreed, clapping his hands in delight. He started running circles around England's living room, singing, "'Mewika, 'Mewika!" at the top of his lungs. England walked in, carrying a now awake and crying Germany (oh joy) and handing him to me.

"America, stop bothering Mr. Prussia, he's our guest here," he told the little colony. He turned to me and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, America's a little… _boisterous."_

I liked the kid's spirit, though. "It's okay, he's a pretty awesome little guy," I assured England, letting Germany suck on the heel of my hand so he'd stop crying.

England smiled, which was kind of surprising. England's not a majorly smiley person, and the fact that _I_ made him grin was all the more shocking. "Well, I'm going to make myself and America some porridge for breakfast, would you like something, Prussia?"

Note: Avoid England's cooking at all costs.

"Um… _nein, danke…_ I'm not that hungry…" I held my stomach as if I was feeling sick, although to tell the truth, just the thought of Arthur Kirkland's culinary abominations makes one's stomach turn.

England raised a brow in concern. "You all right, Prussia? You haven't eaten since I got here. Come to think of it, Austria and Hungary came over last week, and they weren't hungry, either. Must be something going around."

 _Ja, it's called your cooking,_ I thought, but aloud I just responded, _"Ja, ja,_ like I said, I'm just not that hungry."

"Okay." England shrugged and headed to the kitchen. America was tugging at my sleeve.

"Pway, Pwussia, pway!" I think he meant play.

"Sorry, little guy, but I've gotta take care of Germany right now."

America's face fell. "I'll just eat bweakfast, then."

I raised a brow. "You mean you _like_ England's cooking?"

He shook his head. "But who else would feed me?"

I grimaced. "Come over to my place some, kiddo, and I'll feed you some bratwurst, all right?"

"Bwatwuwst, bwatwuwst! That's a funny word." America giggled and danced around shouting, "Bwatwuwst, bwatwuwst!" His loud voice woke up Germany, causing him to start crying all over again. _mein gott,_ this was going to be a long day.

(P.S. German words translation: Danke= thank you. Nein= no. Mein gott= my God. Ja=yes.)


	4. How Germany Got His Awesome Nickname

"Poor little mite needs a bath," England cooed to my baby brother as he stroked the infant nation's dirty bit of hair.

I raised my eyebrows. It was my second full day of staying with England, and I was tired as hell. Baby Germany required my constant attention, and America required England's. I did most of what England told me to… this, however, seemed a bit much.

"How do you bathe a baby without drowning him?" I queried.

England looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but he refrained from actually doing so. He had set up America with some paper and a pen so he could draw, which would hopefully keep the little colony busy while we bathed Germany. "Follow me," he ordered, handing my brother back to me. Normally I would have protested that no one other than Fritz could order around the awesome me, but I reminded myself that it was for Germany.

England filled the tub with only warm water rather than hot, explaining that Germany's skin was very sensitive since he was only a newborn, and a hot bath, while it might be nice to us, would only burn my poor baby brother. I unwrapped the little guy from his blanket when England was done filling the tub with water and soap, and waited for further instruction.

"Hold him the whole time, under his armpits, like this," England instructed, and showed me how to correctly hold my baby brother and gently wash him at the same time. "Sing to him, talk to him, it's best if you do something to make him laugh or smile," he added. "America would cry whenever I didn't distract him from the water, he'd think he was being drowned, poor little bloke."

I considered from a baby's point of view that I wouldn't like some giant holding me in a tub and sending waves over my newly formed head while scrubbing my body with some suspicious, white, foamy substance. I nodded and, while I was bathing Germany, made funny faces at him, inducing the cutest little laughs I have ever heard.

When Germany's bath was over, I dried him gently with a towel and dressed him in a little sailor boy outfit that America wore as an infant. He started getting fussy, and I asked England what to do.

"It's time for his nap," he explained, "little lad's been up too long." He checked his pocket watch and grimaced. "You put him to bed, Prussia, I've got to check on America, it's been too long for him to not have caused trouble already."

I chuckled. Little America reminded me of myself as a kid; loud, energetic, and always getting in trouble, but pretty awesome and adorable, if I do say so myself. I wondered what Germany would be like when he got a little order and started, well… developing a personality. Would he be boisterous and talkative like little America? Or quiet and reserved like England? I was looking forward to finding out, but at the same time, as I tucked in my little brother and kissed his little newborn nose, watching him falling asleep after a heartbreakingly adorable yawn, I knew I would miss him being this age when he got older.

I was getting pretty tired too, and thought I might nap on the floor or something. I took one last look at Germany to check on him and whispered, "Good night, Germany." I paused. My _kleiner bruder_ needed a nickname. I always gave nicknames to everybody. I thought for a moment.

Well, his land, from a map Fritz had shown me before I left for England's house, would be to the west of mine. That was it! I'd call him West!

I smiled at my little brother in the cradle, hearing baby breath after adorable baby breath. "Good night, West."


	5. England and I are Sorta-Almost Friends

The whole week consisted of me learning how to feed a baby, change a baby, bathe a baby, sing to a baby, soothe a baby, and on and on and on. Little America loved Germany and constantly asked to hold him. The kid was pretty cute, so I let him sit on my lap and "hold" Germany. Finally, however, I felt like I was capable of raising my little bro all on my own.

"Doooon't gooooo," America whined, sniffling as he held onto my arm with both little hands in a desperate attempt to keep me there. However, I was able to just lift him like that, his little feet dangling above the floor and making dancing shadows.

"America, Prussia has to get back home," England told his little brother, gently but firmly. America sighed but nodded and released me. I still had little America-prints all over my left arm, my right one occupied holding the bundle that was Germany.

"Yes, Engwand," he sighed, and ran to hug me goodbye, throwing his little arms around my waist.

I smiled and ruffled his dirty blonde hair. "Bye for now, America," I told him, "you'll see me again. You be good, ya hear me, kid?"

America nodded and gave a clumsy little salute, accidentally hitting himself in the forehead and making him go momentarily cross-eyed. England chuckled and shook my hand. "Praying for a safe journey home for you, Prussia," he told me seriously. "Hope all goes well with little Germany."

I had to tease him; it's just in my awesome nature after all. "One would almost think you were my _friend_ or something."

England got all flustered, just like I knew he would. Ah, I do love getting a rise out of people. "Yes…well…it's not _you_ I was all concerned about, you know. I just… didn't want to leave an innocent baby _completely_ in your previously inexperienced hands."

"Yeah, sure, whatever, man," I laughed, heading for the door. "See you around?"

England paused for a moment, like he wasn't quite used to having friends. I realized that maybe he was unsure how to handle one. Then he gave a teasing smile. "Yeah…sure…whatever."

Time skip….

"And that's the story of your infancy," I finish, pulling Germany's covers over him like I would when he was little. "I was still a little unsure at first, but when your first word was Prussia, I knew you'd turn out all right."

My _kleiner bruder_ flushes a deeper shade of red than his face had already become. "Ah, thanks, Gil… but you don't have to tuck me in, you know. I'm grown now."

My workaholic little brother has caught a cold and it took all my strength just to make him go to bed. Like really, I'm still raising him when it comes to stuff like that. "I _want_ to," I insist, brushing his hair out of his forehead. Now go to sleep, West, you need it. You look like you got hit by a bus or somethin'."

Germany gives me a somewhat brotherly-affectionate glare, and if you have a sibling you'll know what I'm talking about. "Fine, 'mother'," he teases, and shifts under his covers. I touch his forehead and find it still a little warm. This big brother won't get any sleep tonight. Just like I did in England's house all those years ago, I sleep on the floor beside my brother, dozing off to the sound of his breathing.

"Good night, Ger…" I pause and smile. He still has that angelic look when he sleeps, at least I think he does. I kiss his forehead and lay down. "Good night, West."


End file.
